I am entering a phase of cultivation, symbolized by putting down the clippers for as long as I can. Watch as my hair and I grow.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Day 473.

Oh. Well, you know. I've been thinking some things.

Like, hey, being genderqueer & genderfluid is hard. Not only is it hard in most of the world, but it is also hard, and maybe even more excruciatingly so, in so-called queer spaces.

As much as I love you, I don't want to participate in your bro-out. Not that it matters, because you never invite me anyway. And I don't want to femme-bond with you. Your hair looks fine, I don't have any lipgloss, and I'll never understand why you put those shoes on to go out and dance in the first place.

And do I grapple with all this? Fuck yes. Internalized self-loathing, both individual and collective, brought to you by a culture that demands that we all check little boxes on forms from the time we can write. Sometimes, no matter what space I am in, I picture myself checking little boxes. (Straight/Gay? Male/Female? Butch/Femme? White/Black?) So, actually, I lied. I don't picture myself checking the boxes. I picture myself drawing all over the form with crayons, crudely, hearts and butterflies and trees and a sun in the corner, like a little kid. And refusing to check the boxes. Wanting to pretend I hardly notice that they are there.

I grapple with all of it. My attractions, the people who are attracted to me (and the ways they identify.) I wish it wasn't so, but it is all further complicated by race and ethnicity and class and age and size and ability and location and community and the mobility and fluidity of people in this day and age.

It's very exhausting. I will need to write more about this, soon. For now, this. An outline.